


all night diner

by hrtbnr (kiden)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake Chop, M/M, Post-Heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiden/pseuds/hrtbnr
Summary: a little post-heist unwinding boys





	all night diner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cibmata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cibmata/gifts).



Under the dim lights, James’ bruised eye looks black. It matches the rivers of dried blood running from his nose and mouth and smeared across his cheek. They started going to  _ Big Mouth Murray’s Diner  _ because it’s only a few blocks away from Aleks’ apartment, but they kept coming because neither Murray nor any of his employees ask questions besides what they’re having tonight, boys. 

Aleks is just as covered in blood; his own and a little bit of James’. When he reaches across the table to steal another French fry, the sleeve of his hoodie pulls up just enough to see James’ fingerprints on his wrist, pressed just at the line of his tattoos with blood. It’ll wash away when he showers but Aleks doesn’t mind them, while it’s all there. James’ hands still on him when they’re not touching. 

Like James’ legs tangled with his under the old, chipped formica table. Earlier they were playing footsie, teasing, full of adrenaline, bumping against each other from toes to their ankles. But bellies full of burgers and onion rings, french fries and a vanilla milkshake that Aleks couldn’t finish and passed off to James, they’re too tired to do anything else but rest. The traffic light turns yellow to red, falls through the window and casts a soft fire across James’ face. His eyes are bright, and with every blink he looks at something else. Aleks’ eyes, his mouth, the hollow of his throat.  It’s not hot, but warm, fond, and Aleks’ chest sings, a song that carries from his heart out into his limbs. 

He’s tracing his thumb around ancient stains of coffee rings, and Aleks watches his hand, notes the cuts on his knuckles and the bruises. Thinks about how natural it looks wrapped around a gun but that never comes close to when their fingers are laced together. Or when he traces the lines of Aleks’ tattoos, up one arm and across his chest and down the other, to grab him, to pull him closer. 

Aleks digs around for his wallet, throws a few high bills on the table for the food, the discretion, and the ambience. He pushes himself out of the booth first then yanks James up to follow, their shoulders bumping, knocking breathless, giddy laughs out of each other. 

They left the haul at the warehouse but his pockets still feel heavy. It’s a pleasant, satisfying weight that James helps him carry with the arm he wraps around his waist. The bell above the door rings when they leave, stepping out onto the dark, empty street. The heat, barely stifled by a rare night of rain, is the only thing that greets them. By the end of the block the blood on James’ face is already washing away; Aleks hides his hand up the sleeve of his hoodie, keeping those fingerprints on his wrist dry.

By the time James walks backwards into the vestibule of the apartment building, both arms now around Aleks as he presses small, feather-light kisses to his jaw, the rain is coming down heavy. It’s the only thing Aleks can hear outside of their footsteps, the rustle of their clothes as they move together, and James’ keys when he lets them in. There’s only them and the whole world might as well be dead out there, no sound, no light but the exposed fluorescent tubes that line the hall, flickering above their heads. 

Each stair is a fucking mountain to climb, both of them tired right down to their goddamn bones. But they drag each other up two flights anyway, stopping to kiss, to laugh, for James to slide his fingers through Aleks’ hair, under his hood, and cup the back of his head. 

The way James looks at him makes Aleks feel like he could do anything. And he does when they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Against his lips, James whispers, “You know,” crowds Aleks against his apartment door, hands slipping down to grab his ass, hold him tightly against his hips, “want your legs wrapped around me but I think I’m actually fucking dead.”

“Good. You’d be  _ fucking  _ the dead anyway _.  _ I need to sleep.”

Aleks has his arm looped around James shoulders, head back, and he means it - there’s no sex in their immediate future - but he still weakly rolls hips.  The spirit is  _ always  _ willing. 

“Shower?” James asks, nosing around the warm crook of Aleks’ neck even as he unlocks the door. “Then bed?”

“Shower. Then bed,” Aleks agrees. 

When the door swings open he falls into his apartment with James, both of them already stripping before they make it out of the foyer. Kicking off their shoes and helping each other with buttons and zippers. Cataloguing injuries as they go - ones that need to be looked at and many more that don’t. 

As shitty as Aleks’ building is, there’s always hot water, and it’s only on for a few minutes before the bathroom fills with steam. Aleks steps into the shower first - the water burns but it feels good on his aching muscles - and he lets down James’ hair before he gets in with him. There’s less blood on both of them than Aleks would’ve thought but the water still circles around the drain red, then pink, as it washes away. 

Being naked with James never gets old. Aleks never gets used to it, not really. How comfortable it is. The way they fit together, chest-to-chest, chins resting on each other’s shoulders. How he can bury a hand in James’ hair and go boneless, rub their bodies together for no other reason than to feel close, and that James splays his hands on his back, pressing the pads of his fingers between the bumps of Aleks’ spine when he curls into him. 

They stay like that until James hums the content little sigh that means he’s falling asleep, then dry off just enough to say they tried before falling together into Aleks’ big, soft bed. Again there’s no light, no sound but they’re face-to-face and breathing the same air, bare legs sliding together as James covers them both with the blanket. 

He holds Aleks’ wirst in his hand, the way he likes to do, and the bloody fingerprints might have washed away but they’re there anyway. They’re always there. The way Aleks’ are burned into James’ shoulders and back and hips. 

This is the place where Aleks shakes. The only time he lets it happen. When they’re safe and it’s over and neither of them smell like blood or gunpowder. The hazy place between being awake and sleeping when he remembers that one day they could lose. 

“Love you,” James whispers, because he knows Aleks needs to hear it. 

And Aleks kisses him in the dark, holds him close until the rain lulls them to sleep, because he knows James needs to feel it. 

  
  
  



End file.
